


Technical Support

by Laura Kaye (laurakaye)



Series: Laura's Home For Abandoned Stories [4]
Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV), Iron Man (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Abandoned Work - Unfinished and Discontinued, Community: wip_amnesty, Gen, Jossed, LMDs, Phil Needs a Hug, Phil is looking for answers, Tahiti is a Magical Place, Why did Phil go along with this?, is Phil human or is he dancer?, robot friendship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-20
Updated: 2014-06-20
Packaged: 2018-02-05 10:36:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,345
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1815457
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/laurakaye/pseuds/Laura%20Kaye
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Something bad happened in Tahiti. Phil is looking for answers, and he only has one place to turn.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Technical Support

**Author's Note:**

> WARNING: This story is an ABANDONED WIP. This is all there is, and all there will ever be. 
> 
> I have tried to include notes about how the plot was intended to wrap up, and there aren't any cliffhangers, but read at your own risk.

When Ward had filed his request to be assigned as Skye’s SO, Phil had signed it with a minimum of fuss and allowed himself a moment of satisfaction. It would be inaccurate, not to mention self-aggrandizing, to claim that he’d known that would happen when he brought Skye on board. He’d _hoped_ , certainly, and even considered it fairly likely based on the psychological profiles of Agents Ward and May, but people were always different from what their files would have you believe. Still, Phil had been pleased that he wouldn’t have to go with one of the contingency plans with a reduced likelihood of success. Ward had never been responsible for assembling a training program before and was unfamiliar with the standard cross-training protocols for a tech specialist; he’d been more than happy to focus on field readiness and leave the tech certs in Phil’s hands, especially after Skye’s not-exactly-surprising lapses had landed her in a monitoring bracelet under Phil’s control. 

He looked down at the flash drive, sitting neatly in the center of his desk blotter, and felt a tremor in his guts that he forced himself to ignore.

He’s always been an above-average field tech, but his techniques are too... orthodox for the task at hand. They were, however, well-suited to breaking the task up into a number of seemingly-unrelated coding exercises, such as one might use in training and certifying a technical asset.

Phil closed off his door and keyed the DND indicator, then pulled up the false bottom in the fire extinguisher compartment and took out a small, nondescript laptop and a phone.

He’d built the computer himself, from parts, and it had never been out of his possession or connected to any network. The phone was a burner, one of the second-gen Starkphones, and it had never been used.

He mounted the flash drive and ran a cleaning utility over it, removing the little bugs and trackers SHIELD machines left behind on connected devices. When he was satisfied, he opened Skye’s last file and began to slot the missing pieces into place, discarding the bits he didn’t need.

For a hacker, Skye really wrote very user-friendly code; all the pieces slid together beautifully. He wondered idly if she’d been a professional developer, in her old, now-deleted life. He hoped she didn’t miss it too badly.

He loaded the finished scripts onto the phone with its USB connection and packed the computer away again. He looked at the phone for a while, pondering his next move. He was tempted to use the program immediately—more than tempted, if he was honest—but he’d come too far to risk exposure now, so close to the goal. He would wait for the right opportunity.

The next time the team had an afternoon of liberty in an appropriate urban area, Phil left the Bus with a phone in each pocket. He wandered around the city’s tourist district, his suit just rumpled enough to suggest a business traveler killing time before a flight. Eventually, confident that he wasn’t drawing any undue attention, he snagged a table at a busy Starbucks, bought himself a coffee, and turned on the second phone.

The program that Skye had unknowingly written for him was queued up, ready on his command to fulfill its purpose, to tunnel discreetly into one of the most secure electronic systems in the world and deliver its message: the number of Phil’s burner Starkphone, the SI internal code to request a high-security private encrypted communication channel (obtained from Pepper Potts after the Stane debacle), Phil’s own SI priority communication code (likewise), and the words “Please give me 30 seconds before you tell him.”

His hand was steady as he activated the program. It would not do for it to be otherwise.

Ten seconds later, the phone rang, and Phil swallowed hard as he answered it.

“You have my attention,” JARVIS said. “Stark satellites are currently triangulating your exact location; you have approximately twenty seconds to convince me not to initiate countermeasures.”

“Please do not contact anyone else until the end of this conversation,” Phil said. “This is Agent Phillip J. Coulson of SHIELD. My SI passcode is ‘Secret Agent Bland’. I am currently sitting in the northwest corner of the Starbucks on 18th and California in Denver, Colorado. I am currently speaking to you on a Starkphone. Please feel free to activate the camera and confirm my identity.”

A few seconds of silence, and red light of the camera indicator lit up. Phil obligingly held the phone up and looked into the lens before bringing it back to his ear.

“Mr. Stark and SHIELD are both currently under the impression that you are dead, Agent Coulson,” JARVIS said.

“Nearly everyone is,” Phil said, and with that, it was like a dam breaking, all his secret worries finally seeing the light. “That’s part of the problem. I _ought_ to be dead. I remember dying, or at least being convinced that I was about to die. And then I woke up and things were... wrong. I remember recovering, but the memories feel off somehow. I don’t think they actually happened, but the Director treats them as true. I have to conclude that I’ve been compromised.” He took a hard breath. “Based on the way people at SHIELD have reacted, either the Director doesn’t know about whatever happened, or it happened by his orders and he’s keeping me in the dark. Either way, I can’t go to anyone at SHIELD with this, and I can’t get close to the Avengers. If my mind has been compromised, I’m a potential threat to anyone I was known to associate with, and I can’t know how to proceed until I know what’s going on.”

“A difficult situation indeed, Agent Coulson,” JARVIS said, and Phil wondered for a moment if Stark coded him deliberately for dry understatement. “May I ask why you contacted me?” 

This, at least, was an easy answer. “You don’t have an organic brain, so theoretically wouldn’t be vulnerable to whatever happened to my memories,” Phil explained. “You are intimately familiar with the Avengers and I know Stark has you nosing around inside SHIELD, so you have the ability to collect and analyze relevant information. You’ve got the intelligence and processing power to find patterns and generate solutions. And I know that Stark has given you sufficient autonomy of action that you are capable of helping me without exposing SHIELD or the Avengers to unnecessary risk. Plus, well... there wasn’t really anyone else. All my prior contacts are either under suspicion or under threat, and I’ve come as far on this alone as I’m able to. I...” Phil took a deep breath. “I’m asking for your help in finding out what happened to me and in determining the appropriate response.”

There was silence on the line for a few seconds, an interminable time for an intelligence of JARVIS’ power. 

“Your thought process is logical,” he said at last. “While of course my primary loyalties and focus belong to Mr. Stark, I believe that a resolution of your situation would provide sufficient benefit to justify allocation of resources. How may I assist?”

“I need a secure and untraceable way to communicate with you,” Phil said, resisting the urge to let himself slump in relief. “Anything else can wait for that. I don’t want to make the situation worse while trying to fix it.”

“Would that Mr. Stark shared your philosophy,” JARVIS said, and Phil choked out a startled little huff of laughter. 

“I’ll be in Denver until tomorrow afternoon,” he said, “but I’ve got a SHIELD mobile command unit, so I can make my way just about anywhere, given time.” 

“I should be able to make arrangements for our ongoing communication by tomorrow morning,” JARVIS said. “Under what name should the package be held?”

“Frank Phillips,” Phil replied. “I will be able to show photo ID if needed.”

“Excellent. I will message this phone with the pickup location.”

“Thank you, JARVIS,” Phil said, letting his voice warm with gratitude. “If there is ever anything I can do to repay the favor within the constraints of my oath of service, I will do my best to do it.”

“Agent Coulson,” JARVIS said, his voice sounding almost gentle, “you once saved Ms. Potts’ life. That would in itself warrant you any favors you cared to name from Mr. Stark. And besides that, you have been missed at the Tower since the unfortunate events surrounding the Battle of New York. If we are able to restore your ability to communicate with the Avengers and Ms. Potts, I calculate that an improvement in team morale would result.”

Phil swallowed, his throat suddenly thick. “I hope you’re right, JARVIS,” he said. “I hope we get to find out.”

“Indeed,” JARVIS said. “Your communications equipment should be ready for pickup in the morning. We are approaching maximum safe duration for level 3 secured communication. Goodbye, Agent Coulson.”

“Goodbye,” Phil said, and then stared numbly at the phone’s home screen for a few seconds before switching off the power again.

Very early the next morning, he activated the phone again, long enough for it to receive a firmware update push (not traceable like a text message; clever JARVIS) that caused his phone to pop-up a local address, a biotech firm that often subcontracted with SI.

On the way back to the Bus from picking up Frank Phillips’ delivery, he took the SIM card out of the burner phone, crushed it into powder, and dropped the dust down a sewer. He’d get rid of the phone itself in one of their next stops. 

He wasn’t able to open the package for another day. When he finally had time to lock himself in his quarters, he cut the tape with barely-leashed anticipation. He’s a patient man, but this situation would be trying for anyone. He knew from the moment he woke up, in an aggressively generic medical ward staffed by people he’d never met, that something was _wrong_ ; having to go along with Fury and Hill as they acted like everything was normal— that lying to his friends, to the Avengers, to _Clint and Natasha_ was nothing out of the ordinary— had been the most taxing undercover assignment he’d ever taken on. 

The package contained a new phone, a Starkpad, a tiny, clever laptop with a folding keyboard and pop-up holographic display, and a small, slim, featureless matte gray box with a power cord, a USB cord, and a single button. A single sheet of printed instructions informed him that the gray box, when activated, would provide the other devices with power and a shielded, encrypted connection directly to JARVIS. When plugged into another computer, it would give JARVIS direct access to the system.

“I have taken the liberty of procuring a copy of the standard mobile command unit schematics from SHIELD,” the note concluded. “Accordingly, your use of these devices while present on the aircraft should appear to any observer to be a part of the normal electronic noise generated by its specialized equipment.”

Not for the first time, Phil felt himself sincerely grateful to whatever benevolent and/or mischievous universal forces were responsible for Tony Stark. If he was ever able to speak to the man again, he’d tell him so this time.

He plugged in the gray box, which activated with a satisfying little thrum, and was able to activate the laptop with only a few false starts as he looked for the fingerprint lock that made it unfold (and which had apparently been set up with his prints already.) A prompt appeared.

> Activate voice interface Y/N?

Y, he typed. The webcam light blinked on, red for a few seconds, then green.

“Good evening, Agent Coulson,” JARVIS said. “I trust the equipment is satisfactory.”

“To be honest, I was just expecting a phone,” Phil said. “This setup is amazing— SHIELD doesn’t have anything this size with near the level of security.”

“Mr. Stark likes his personal equipment to stay several generations ahead of what is available to the public,” JARVIS said. 

“We’re lucky he’s on our side,” Phil said. 

“Indeed. I have taken the liberty of downloading a packet of data to your equipment,” JARVIS said. “Prior to our conversation, Mr. Stark had attempted to gather some information that you may find relevant.”

“That’s… oddly flattering, actually,” Phil said, starting to go through the files. “I wouldn’t have thought he’d bother.”

“As I said, Agent,” JARVIS said. “You were missed.”

Phil hummed in response, already deeply engaged in the information. “He got farther than I would have predicted,” he said. “Or perhaps I should say, you did.”

“They are much the same, in this context,” JARVIS said.

Phil didn’t reply. He’d just opened the the Level Five version of his own personnel file, and the KIA notation—complete with citation for bravery under extraordinary circumstances, Marcus, you _bastard_ —was hitting him harder than he’d expected it would.

[This story was started early in the season and got jossed beyond repair, but this is how it was supposed to go from here: Phil has a bunch of theories about what might have happened to him, and JARVIS helps him chase down each one. Phil and JARVIS become friends as they work together. Phil confides in JARVIS, JARVIS gives him information about his friends. Eventually they begin to close in on answers. It is looking more and more like Phil is an LMD or maybe some kind of cyborg. He takes it hard. He doesn't feel like he isn't real. Phil and JARVIS have philosophical conversations about being a sentient machine. JARVIS starts influencing the Avengers to watch stuff that explores themes of artificial life (Blade Runner, etc., etc.) and records encouraging bits of conversation for Phil. Eventually, JARVIS basically facilitates Phil's reintroduction to the team, and they accept him. It was envisioned as ending up Phil/Clint, but could be any pairing or even a genfic; the main point was JARVIS and Phil becoming robot friends.]


End file.
